LETTER XIII.
Valley of Achor, Nov. 13, 1818.
Mrs. N—H.
MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,
I AM anxious to hear how thy God supports your mind under the afflictive dispensation.—Little did I think that we should so speedily lose one that was dear to us both—to me as a friend, and a conscientious christian, but as every thing to you, next to God and your own soul. But we shall meet again, where tears shall be wiped from every eye, and parting shall be known no more. My friend I shall recognize above, and you will clasp your much-loved North again—
He’s gone! lost for awhile,
And number’d with the dead!
But there’s a day when I shall
Meet my friend. Meet him!
Oh, transporting thought! and
Together spend eternity itself.
Ah, cruel death! thus so early to separate twin souls. Why do I thus talk! Our beloved friend has escaped the head ach, the heart ach, inbred corruption, an ensnaring world, a tempting devil, wicked men, false professors, abounding error, and weak-minded christians. What a glorious, painful deliverance! blessed to him and distressing to us, more particularly to you. I need say nothing about him—you best knew his worth. I only lament my captivity, that I could not attend him in his illness—that I could not see the finishing work of grace on his heart—that I could not with him, and by him, bend the knee, and commend him to his dear Saviour, who was waiting to receive his dear elect, redeemed soul. Those who live on the sea coast have seen armies drawn up, in order to receive some great personage; so, truly (could you and I look beyond this lower world) we should have seen numbers of angels waiting to conduct your dear partner to the land of eternal bliss. Yea, more, the dear Saviour himself came for him—so he promises, I will come again, and receive you to myself, that where I am there you may be also.
How very uncertain is life! Perhaps as I write this short epistle, this hand may be checked, and mouth be dumb. O may we be found in some sweet frame, or good work when death appears. May we never be attacked in an ill-spent hour, but be wrapt in holy thoughts, and clothed with the righteousness of God our dear Saviour—pardoned by his precious blood, and on the wings of love, ready to take our flight.—Death is certainly very terrific to us, but it is our Father’s porter, sent to unlock mortality, to let out his prisoner to the full enjoyment of his inheritance.—I pray God to grant we may both find Christ so precious to us, that we may truly say with the apostle, For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain—that is, Christ is gain to me, whether I live or die. Our main business is to cultivate an intimacy with Christ. I remember when my heart was overcharged with grief, that I was nearly distracted, there came to me a soft, still voice, as it were, saying, “Acquaint thyself with God, and be at peace with him.” This is the command, and God has promised that he will give us an heart to know him; and has declared, “All thy children shall be taught of God.” To know God in Christ is eternal life, and this knowledge of him is knowing him in an experimental way, as a God pardoning iniquity, transgression, and sin. This, only this, can subdue the fears of death, and take away its sting.
I often think of the dying saying of a good man, when asked, as he was near death, whether he feared death, “I cannot say” said he, “that I have so lived as not to fear death, but I can say that I know Christ so, that I am not afraid to die.” I trust the Lord will support you in your very trying circumstances—that his hand will preserve you in your approaching calamity, and give you a safe delivery—that almighty grace will save the child, that parents and children may meet in glory. The Lord is well known in Zion as an husband to the widow, and the father of the fatherless, and he will be known by you in these lovely characters. I had not an opportunity of dropping a tribute of respect for your dear husband in the pulpit, I beg, however, the Lord will be with you, and give you to enjoy all the grace contained in this sweet text—“For thy maker is thy husband, the Lord of Hosts is his name.” To him be glory by the Church. Amen.
Command me home, Oh God my King,
And bear me to the Skies,
Where Angels loud Hosannahs sing,
And drink celestial joys.
Your’s, truly,
Ruhamah.